Both Sides Now
by Aeditimi Scriba
Summary: After the events of COE, Jack finds himself in a strange place with some achingly familiar faces. Can he look at his life from another side? Canon pairings, spoilers through DW:End of Time 2 and TW:CoE. "This was really going to hurt..."
1. Chapter 1

**Both Sides Now **

After the events of _Children of Earth_, Jack finds himself in a strange place with some achingly familiar faces. Can he look at his life from another side?

Canon pairings, re-imagined (which in Jack's case doesn't narrow it down much); rated M for language and in anticipation of future developments.

_(title credit: Joni Mitchell) _

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**Chapter one**

There was nothing left.

Worse than that: there was a shitload of debris and junk and dust that had once been a whole helluvah lot of something, and now was less than rubble. Twisted metal and pieces of structural supports lay tangled together with the remnants of pilfered artifacts, the ruined remains of centuries worth of work. Paper files vaporized, computers reduced to sand and pools of plastic, and who knows how many scattered human remains, most assuredly some of them his own.

Pleasant.

Jack kicked his way through the crater that had once been the Hub, his office, his home, his life. Several stories lay pancaked together, collapsed on top of any deeper vaults where his late colleagues and his more sensitive archives might still be buried and salvageable if he could get to them. Someone had picked through the majority of the wreckage, and he hoped it had been Gwen and whatever team she might have cobbled together, rather than the assholes from UNIT. Anything interesting or useful had been combed out months ago. Now it was just a mass grave, a pit that had swallowed his life's work, the ground zero of a battle that had claimed his lover and his grandson alike.

And with them, his connection to everything that had mattered.

Jack fought his way downward through the mess, further caking dust and debris into his pants and coat. And fuck all, no one was going to offer to have them dry cleaned for him. Somewhere down here, somewhere buried in all this mess, was a box he'd kept in his personal safe. Small and innocuous, and filled with several human lifetimes worth of memories and tokens—nothing Gwen or UNIT or anyone else would have cared about. But it was all he had left. The 456 had seen to that.

For the millionth time, he cursed the Doctor, selfish goddamn alien with his ability to fix timelines and his complete inability to be anywhere near when and where Jack needed him. Rumor now was that he'd gone and regenerated. Pity, too. Jack had a few rather body-specific fantasies about taking his anger out on the Time Lord in ways that generally involved violence and then sex, and then make-up sessions with the two put together.

Although deeper down, he had to admit he'd be glad just to see the Doctor again. Funny how one's life seemed more normal and bearable if it contained another time-traveling immortal with a knack for losing everything he loved.

Dislodging a slab of concrete, his fingers felt the tingle of the rift energy, crackling near what had been the heart of the Hub. Uncontrolled by any manipulator, the energy thrummed against his flesh, raising the hairs on his arms and at the back of his neck. This much rift energy, this uncontrolled, would have weevils running through the city in no time.

Jack scuffled in the rubble around him, trying to find something he could use as a shield between the raw rift and the open air. A piece of twisted metal that had been part of the manipulator itself gleamed at him an arm's length away, and Jack grabbed on to it. Leaning back to use his weight against it he pulled hard, falling back as the metal came free, dislodging a little more of the material.

And opening the rift a crack wider.

Energy sizzled around Jack, sent him spinning and hurtling, without moving him from where he'd landed, sprawled in the bowl of the crater. He felt molecules rending, tearing, splitting, felt himself stretched and mangled and thrown, heard the howl of voices, of shouting, of roaring silence, of colliding planets, of rushing traffic.

And abruptly, nothing. Nothing but cool, fresh air against his face. Nothing above him, nothing beside him except a panoramic view of a city skyline, and most importantly, nothing below him.

Nothing for a good five or six hundred feet, anyway.

Oh hell. This was really going to hurt.

Jack closed his eyes, his head throbbing against the whistling rush in his ears, the momentum of the fall, and the pavement rushing up to meet him.

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Jack's first awareness was the prickling sensation of his limbs and ligaments re-knitting, a feeling not unlike that of body parts waking up after a loss of circulation—if you took that sensation and multiplied it by several million and added the sharp stabs of pain in each and every nerve ending below his mid-back. Ah, spinal injuries. Lovely.

The pain mounted and receded, and his lungs patched enough to hold air, and he was gasping, jerking up, eyes wide, and then collapsing back.

He'd expected to see the skyline above him, to feel the concrete sidewalk against his back, but he was indoors, in a room so bright it burned the backs of his eyes, lying on a slightly padded table. A hospital? A morgue? Not again. He hated having to explain himself to the night watchmen in morgues. Always freaked them out. Except the necrophiliacs; they got a kick out of him.

"I think he's alright," a voice said to his left. A familiar voice, soft, feminine, laced with a London accent thick enough to make him want to try to stand a spoon in it. "Can you hear me, Jack?" she asked, and her breath stirred near his cheek. She was close.

He groaned.

"Articulate as always," another voice chimed in, this one doubly-familiar, the stuff of dreams, of legends. Cool fingers brushed the pulse-point in his wrist, betraying a gentleness not evident in the cheeky tone.

Jack's eyes snapped open, watering against the white lights above him. Squinting and blinking, he looked right, confirming as best he could the outline of the man who had spoken. The silhouette was hard to make out, but it was lanky and had hair jutting out everywhichway. It was, in fact, a sight for sore eyes.

"Doctor!" Jack gasped, hoping he sounded at least a little bit jaunty, and trying to flash his best smile, the one that made his dimples stand out.

"Captain." The Doctor gave him a half-grin and dropped a wink.

Jack concentrated on the muscles in his neck, and swung his head to the other side. Rose was seated in a chair by his head, nibbling the fingers of one hand as she watched him. "Rose," he said in awe. "Good to see ya, Rose Tyler."

"Oi, don't even think about it," the Doctor warned.

But Rose beamed back at him. "Feeling better?" she asked.

He propped himself up on his elbows and took in his surroundings, a medical sort of examination room.

"Good thing we found you first," Rose offered, her face clouding with seriousness again. "Brought you in here to wake up, rather than out on the street. You were drawing quite a crowd."

"Always do," he said, flashing another of his most dazzling smiles and sitting up, swinging his legs over the edge of the table, Doctor-side. "So." He looked at the Time Lord, trying to gage his relative point in Jack's timeline. He looked… younger in some ways, less strained and anguished than the last time they'd met, but in other ways older, actually physically a little bit older. "When am I?"

The Doctor furrowed his brows in genuine concern. "It's been about three years for us since Rose and I last saw you, Jack." Jack's own frown deepened. This wasn't making sense. The Doctor and Rose were only together for about a year after they'd all parted at the Bad Wolf Corporation. "The problem is really not so much the when. It's the where."

"You're in our world, Jack," Rose said softly behind him.

Jack turned to her, not understanding. "Of course I'm in your world. Where else would I be?"

"No, Jack. _Our_ world. Mine. His. He," Rose nodded across the table at the Doctor, "is not the Doctor. Not the proper one." There was a huff behind him, and Rose glanced over Jack's shoulder apologetically. "Well, you're not; not the Doctor he thinks you are. Jack, this is not your world."

Oh shit. Jack was beginning to understand. "Parallel universe?" he asked, and Rose nodded. He whirled back to the Doctor. "Half-human?" he asked, and the Doctor-twin nodded. "Fuck."

"Indeed," the Doctor—whoever—said. "Unless that was a suggestion," he amended after a pause. "In which case, maybe later."

"I'm gonna hold you to that," Jack promised half-heartedly.

"Bet you would, too," the other man said.

"So how did I—how do I…" Jack faltered. Oh. He was beginning to see the reason for all the frowning. Clearly they hadn't been that concerned about whether or not he'd survived the fall; they'd seen him come through worse. "You don't know do you?"

The Doctor stand-in shook his head. "If we knew that…"

"We'd have crossed the dimensions a long time ago," Rose finished.

Trapped, then. At least for now. "So where exactly am I, then?" Jack asked, trying to recall the flash of skyline as he fell. "I mean, in this world. Is this London? Cardiff?"

"London," Rose answered. "Specifically, you're in Torchwood Tower, in the offices of a highly secret organization, where we work fighting aliens and protecting the crown."

Jack gaped at her. "I'm in Torchwood London? The Torchwood attached to the other Torchwood, to Canary Wharf?" Rose was nodding. "You," he stared at the Doctor-double in disbelief, "you work for Torchwood?"

"Well," the man shifted uncomfortably, running his hand through his hair. "Advise them really. Offer expert input. I'm a civilian."

"He means he sits at a desk," Rose clarified.

"No weapons. Not a field agent," the Doctor said. "But on the bright side, if there's a place with the resources we need to try to get you home, this is it. And, it doesn't hurt that you have the cleverest bloke in this Universe working on the problem."

"And my team's top-notch," Rose said proudly. "You'd be proud of them, Captain."

"Which reminds me!" The Doctor snapped his fingers, his face lighting up like a fluorescent bulb. "We've got a person here we thought you might like to meet so long as you're stuck here. One of the agents in the office. Brilliant; makes a fantastic cup of coffee."

He was grinning wickedly, nodding over Jack's head to Rose, who had crossed to the door to open it and lean out into the hall.

"Oi, you," she said to an unseen passer-by. "Go fetch Jones."

Martha too? Jack wondered. He glanced back at the Doctor who was grinning like he had swallowed a—

Oh.

Jones.

Torchwood London.

The bottom fell out of Jack's stomach.


	2. Chapter 2

**Both Sides Now **

After the events of _Children of Earth_, Jack finds himself in a strange place with some achingly familiar faces. Can he look at his life from another side?

Spoilers through DW: End of Time 2 and TW: CoE. Set in mostly in "Pete's World;" TenII/Rose, implied Jack/Ianto; rated M for language and in anticipation of future developments.

_(title credit: Joni Mitchell, all the rest of the credit to Russell Davies and the BBC) _

Author's note: I thought it would be hard to find a voice for Jack, but I decided to try looking at the world as though I were angsty, sarcastic, and perpetually horny. Since I'm currently pregnant, that actually turned out to be less difficult than I thought.

Also, I found the term "bampot" on a ScotSpeak site and fell in love with it. Brit-pickers and Scots, please tell me if my usage is off.

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**Chapter two**

When Rose turned back to face him, her eyes were sparkling with joy and anticipation, and Jack found it hard to hate her. She didn't know—neither of them did—what had happened to Ianto in his world, and it was unfair to expect them to be sensitive to a history not their own.

Then again, life wasn't exactly fucking fair.

Rose's face fell instantly as she read his, her eyes widening in alarm. "Jack," she breathed. "What is it? What's wrong?"

He found himself incapable of speech, so he just shook his head emphatically, more than a little pissed at the wetness on his lashes when he blinked. He was vaguely aware that the Doctor had inhaled sharply beside him and was now standing tense and unmoving just off his shoulder.

"What happened?" Rose prompted again. "Jack, tell me. Something's wrong."

He opened his mouth to speak, but only succeeded in letting out a couple of panting breaths, so he swallowed and tried again. There was too much, too much to explain, too much to try to tell them to make them understand.

"Dead." The single, hollow word fell from his lips.

Rose's hands flew to her mouth, covering it in horror as tears sprang to her own eyes. "I'm so sorry," she whispered through her fingers. "I—I didn't even think—of course I should have…" she blinked rapidly and then whirled toward the door, very nearly colliding with the man who had quietly entered the room behind her.

Ianto swept his hand up and away from Rose in a graceful, fluid motion, managing to spill only a few drops from the coffee cup he was holding, and none of them on her. "Sorry, mam; excuse me," he demurred.

Rose squeaked.

Jack figured he'd never blink again, but devote his time to drinking in Ianto with his eyes. He was dressed in an impeccable black pinstripe suit, trousers sculpted perfectly to his lengthy inseam, matching vest resting in a double V across the belt of the gun holster hugging his hips. His coat was off, revealing crisp shirtsleeves whiter than the linens and bandages in the sterile room. The chain of a pocket watch—an honest-to-god pocket watch that Jack, dry-mouthed, desperately hoped had a stopwatch feature with a little button on top—snaked into a vest pocket. His cherry-red tie was knotted in an elegant triangle and would have offset a UNIT cap just about perfectly.

Jack couldn't look any higher than his neck.

The Doctor recovered fastest, adopting a cheery tone. "Ah, Agent Jones! Refreshment for our guest. Brilliant, as always!"

Rose squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, looking every bit the part of the boss. "Thank you, Ianto. I'd like you to meet my associate, Captain Jack Harkness."

Now it would just be damn rude to not look at the man, so Jack raised his eyes to the Welshman's face. Ianto's expression was politely curious as he met Jack's gaze, and a faint smile softened his features, lifting his already picturesque cheekbones and placing a sparkle in his eyes. His close-cropped hair was brushed back from his forehead, and tapered down in neat sideburns, ending just above the dip of his earlobes. There was a small scar on his right cheek, which Jack's Ianto also had, and another above his left eye, which was unique.

"Jones, sir," Ianto said, extending his hand. "Ianto Jones."

Jack took the proffered hand, trying not to run his thumb too lightly across the back of it, and probably failing spectacularly. He summoned whatever charm he had remaining, and lifted the corners of his mouth in what he hoped was a smile and not a grimace. His throat burned and his eyes stung, but he thought his voice sounded almost casual as he said, "Nice to meet you, Jones Ianto Jones."

It was a mark of how little charm he'd summoned that the Doctor didn't so much as grunt.

"And coffee sir?" Ianto offered, presenting the mug in his left hand, his right still clasped in Jack's. Jack gave a nod of thanks and took the cup with both hands, pulse skipping at the leftover drop of liquid that brushed from Ianto's fingers to his as he did so.

Ianto paused only a beat, then broke his gaze and turned to Rose. "I'll be in the conference room, Ms. Tyler," he said, inclining his head. Gliding from the room, he half-turned, speaking to Jack over his shoulder. "Nice to meet you Captain. And… love the coat. Don't see those very often."

"Thanks," Jack said, although his voice broke a little over the word. "Friend 'a mine got it for me," he added, but Ianto was already closing the door behind him.

As the door clicked shut, Rose let out her breath in a rush, and the Doctor wordlessly took the coffee mug from Jack's none-too-stable hands. Jack took a few deep breaths through his nose and pressed his fingers to hollows above his eyes, where his brows met the bridge of his nose.

"I'm sorry, Jack," the Doctor-double said softly. "I—we had no idea. We'd never have sprung him on you like that…"

Jack nodded, keeping his head low, eyes cast down while the stinging subsided.

"You okay?" Rose asked hesitantly, placing one hand on his thigh just above the knee.

Two more stabilizing breaths—just two, dammit—and he was ready. "Fine," he said, lifting his head and meeting her worried gaze. "Fine," he repeated again, this time directed at the Doctor. He hopped from the table to the floor and spread his hands. "Can't help that, so let's move on. Let's figure out how to get me the hell out of here."

Rose looked worried, but the Doctor gave him a half-smile and nodded sympathetically. "Come on, then, Captain. Time to meet the team and take stock of our assets."

"I don't think any of my weapons have been replaced with tropical fruits," Jack offered, patting at his gun. He was rewarded by a light smile from Rose, who led the way as they left the examination room and followed the hall down to the Torchwood main operations.

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Leaving Rose to pop into the director's office on some family business, the Doctor conducted Jack's tour of the Torchwood facilities. The place was teeming with people, reminding Jack how very small his own operations base had been. A lovely woman in a white coat hurried past on her way back to the medical area they'd abandoned, and he flashed her a smile, but his heart wasn't really in it.

The Doctor led him to a workspace cluttered with metal chunks and crystals and wires. A woman who appeared in her early thirties, with unruly red hair and freckled cheekbones, was bent over a contraption that could have been either a weapon or a very advanced alien vibrator. Her tongue was curled against the side of her upper lip and her brows drawn down in concentration.

"Allo, Ginger," the Doctor said cheerily. "Have you determined if that's going to blow us all up yet?"

The woman shook her head and wrinkled her nose. "No, but I've found that it's got more parts than a mechanic's shop," she huffed in a soft Scottish burr, glancing up to take in her companions. Her eyes lingered on Jack's face, and he gave her a wink, because he could.

"Jack," the Doctor said, "this here is Nancy, Nancy MacDonnell. She's a genius with gadgets; built the dimension cannon with Mickey Smith, the one that got Rose into your world."

"Ah, Doctor, you flatter me," she said with a dismissive wave before offering Jack her hand. He took it and pumped it vigorously.

"Hey there, Nancy MacDonnell," he said. "Captain Jack Harkness."

The Doctor cleared his throat, and gave Jack a slight eye-roll, but didn't offer reproach. "Nancy is our best bet of getting you home," he said, with a tone that clearly suggested that it might therefore be unwise to unduly seduce the woman. Whatever undue seduction might look like. He continued, addressing Nancy, "Jack here is from a parallel Universe. Specifically, the one Rose was so keen to get back to."

Nancy's eyes widened a bit and she glanced from the Doctor to Jack and back again. "You mean the one that's sealed off and impossible to get to? Or from?"

"It appears that by 'impossible,' we mean 'highly improbable,'" the Doctor said, "but yes."

"And, let me guess," she said, with a challenging raise of the eyebrows, "you'd like me to figure out a way to get him back where he belongs."

"You got it, Ginger," the Doctor said, inclining his head at her.

"You know I love a puzzle," she sighed. "I'll see if there's something we haven't tried yet."

"Oh, and," the Doctor added, leaning forward and dropping his voice, "it's actually not necessary that we get him home _alive_, if that helps. If you can get most of his body there, ol' Jack here will do the rest."

"Complete bampot you are," she said affectionately, glancing at Jack again with curiosity. "I'll see what I can do, Doctor."

Chuckling, Jack followed the Doctor away from Nancy's station. "So you still go by 'Doctor'?" he asked, relieved at the familiarity of the name.

"Well," his tour guide said, "on paper, I'm Dr. Daniel Tyler, PhD in Astrophysics. But since Rose calls me plain old Doctor, everyone else follows suit."

"Tyler?" Jack asked, picking up on the surname. "Did Jackie adopt you?"

The Doctor gave an exaggerated shudder, then laughed. "Nah. I most unconventionally took the wife's name when we married," he said with a grin.

"_Wife?_" Jack sputtered. "Jesus! Warn a guy—I mean, fuck!"

"Oh yes!" His companion dropped him a wink complete with audible tongue-click.

Jack was spared—or denied—any further speculation along those lines as the woman in question trotted up to them, slipping her hand into the Doctor's.

"Pete says we're all set for dinner at his and Mum's tonight," she said.

"Brilliant," her husband—Jack's mind was still working with the idea_—_said dryly. "Just finishing our tour. Last stop is Nick. _Allons-y._"

The young man in question sat at a computer console, staring intently at his screen. His dark skin shone in the bluish light from the computer monitor, and he rolled his shoulders as he peered closer, sending a pleasant ripple along the tight shirt hugging the muscles of his back.

"This is our communications technology expert, Nick Baker," the Doctor said, and Nick reluctantly tore his eyes from the computer, pushing his wire frame glasses a touch higher up his nose.

"Captain Jack Harkness," Jack said with a smile, which Nick returned with a slight nod. "Nice to meet you, Nick Baker."

"Time. Place," the Doctor said under his breath, and Jack flashed him a sideways grin. "Happy as I am to see your spirits returning."

Nick had turned back to his console. "Oi, Doctor," he said, a worried frown creasing his brow, "ever seen anything like this? I've already tweaked the software once to account for morphological distortion." He said it with such an air of reluctant pride that Jack was reminded with a pang of Tosh. "Still can't quite make out the full syntax."

The Doctor slid on a pair of dark-rimmed glasses and leaned forward to read over Nick's shoulder. "No," he said after a thoughtful pause. "Although the language structure is somewhat familiar. Have you tried recalibrating the syntactical modulator by a factor of twenty-three?"

"No, but I'll see if that makes any progress. Best I can get it, this," he ran his finger along some characters on the screen, "is us, and this seems to be a diminutive form of the word. Small, or young."

"Can you pinpoint the source of the transmission?" Rose asked.

"No luck with that yet," the agent said. "It's like it's broadcasting out of nowhere. Just started coming through on a random frequency this morning."

A tingle of foreboding crept up Jack's spine and lifted the hairs at the nape of his neck.

"What frequency?" he asked, fighting to stay calm.

Nick squinted at his screen again. "Four hundred and fifty-six megahertz."


End file.
